My life is out of control. I’ve been running around like a human without its head cut off. My brain has been strafed with artificial sights and sounds. I’ve got to slow down. I’m just going to stand here until I manage to have at least one sane thought…
I suppose even the busiest people find themselves alone at times—walking to their car, opening a door, taking out the trash—and they glimpse an honest reflection of themselves—transitory, insignificant, unprotected—before rushing to hide beneath responsibilities, overcoats, and routines.
These look delicious! said Blurtso to the cook who had just made a batch of scones. Mmm, said Blurtso, biting into the steaming pillow that was dripping with honey. The cook frowned, and continued to frown as Blurtso enjoyed the scone. I think I’ll have another, said Blurtso, biting into a second steaming pillow and letting the honey trickle down his throat. The cook scowled with a glance of hatred and fury. That calls for another, said Blurtso, taking and eating a third, and a fourth, and a fifth. And on it went, Blurtso eating and the cook scowling, until Blurtso reached the last scone which he plopped into his mouth and finished in one bite. Mmmm, said Blurtso, licking the honey off his mouth and hooves. Fine! shouted the cook, picking up the empty plate and throwing it against the wall. Now, what will you give me?! What will I give you? said Blurtso, still licking the honey from his hooves… I will give you the understanding that your reluctance to share, is more selfish than my insistence to take.
I’d better make sure everything I use is recyclable, thought Blurtso. Let’s see… I use my eyes and my ears and my nose and my hooves, and I sometimes even use my tail. Yep, said Blurtso, I’m completely recyclable.
Hmm, thought Blurtso, number 67. There are 53 numbers in front of me. I wish those numbers didn’t exist, except that they refer to people… which is easy to forget.
Hmm, thought Blurtso, number 82. Everywhere I go, someone is always giving me a number. And it’s different every time. I’m starting to think they don’t know who I am.
Hey, said the tourist, you didn’t sign this one. No, said Bonny, I didn’t sign any of them. Why not? said the tourist. Because they don’t belong to me, said Bonny. Who do they belong to? said the tourist. They don’t belong to anyone, said Bonny. What do you mean? said the tourist. Does the snow belong to the clouds? said Bonny. No, said the tourist. Do the flowers belong to the sun? No, said the tourist. Does anyone own the grass in the field? Well, said the tourist, if someone owned the field, they might think they owned the grass. Yes, said Bonny, but they would be wrong.
Look at that… a shrubbery… growing all alone.
Growing all alone… remarkable.
I guess I should be bored in this field, thought Blurtso. I guess I should be restless and anxious and troubled. I guess I should be worried about the things I’m missing, all the excitement taking place without me. I guess I should be depressed. I guess I should feel that standing in this field is the worst thing in the world. Yes, thought Blurtso, that’s what I should feel…